


Torn in Three

by likethedirection



Series: Unfrayed [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergence - Torn and Frayed, F/M, Gen, POV Sam Winchester, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3098123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethedirection/pseuds/likethedirection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam makes a choice.  Experience would dictate that the next step would be either for that choice to blow up spectacularly in his face, or for that choice to go perfectly, which would be much worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Torn in Three

Sam made a choice.  Experience would dictate that the next step would be either for that choice to blow up spectacularly in his face, or for that choice to go perfectly, which would be much worse.

-

_I have a chance at something, Dean.  I’m not giving that up.  Not this time._

_So what, Sam, I screwed up your happily-ever-after, so that’s it?  You’re out?_

-

He wasn’t Dean.  He’d never figured out how to make this look easy.  But then, Dean could be Dean anywhere.  He grew outward from wherever he stood, winding around places and people and things until they were abruptly _his_ , like they’d been waiting for him.  His people, his home, his treasures.  He swept people up into his orbit, and he flew high and landed hard and held on so tightly that he’d forget how to let go.

Sam was...well, he was Sam, at the moment, which meant this year was already going better than the last few.  But being Sam meant taking in what was there, all he saw and heard and read and felt, and absorbing it.  He grew inward.  Nothing was his except what was inside him, and no one was really his except for himself.  (Or not, depending on the day of the week.)  So he got to know it, what was inside him.  Intimately.

It wasn’t the greatest way to be.  

...That was being kind.  It was bullshit.

-

 _Happily ever after?  The last member of my family and one of the only friends I have disappear into thin air, and I find someone who’s grieving just as badly as I am and_ cope _, and that’s what you call ‘happily ever after?’_

_Hey.  Hi.  Family, right here, fought through monster heaven for a year so I could get back to you.  Cas’s gone off the reservation, but he’s here, solid as you and me.  So what exactly do you have left to cope with?_

You _, Dean!_

-

Some of the things Sam knew about himself were as follows:

1) He was infinitely patient with bullshit (read: most of his brother’s life choices), but not with being outright lied to (read: his brother’s most recent life choices).

2) He was the center of his brother’s world, of his entire existence, which wasn’t such a different situation from a cursed rabbit’s-foot.  Great in a pinch, amazing in theory, but lose the key ingredient - in this case, a Winchester, just close your eyes and pick one - and it would turn disastrous.

3) Whenever he lost Dean, he had this really bad habit of falling in love.  He would find someone who felt almost as real as Dean had, whose love felt almost as bottomless, who understood him almost as well, and he would throw himself into that love as fast and as completely as he could.

4) When falling in love would reach its inevitable conclusion, he would think too much, blame too much, and ultimately say something really stupid.

-

 _Me?  You’re coping with_ me _, what the hell’s that supposed to mean?_

 _It means I don’t belong to you, Dean, no matter what Dad taught you, no matter if you think you’re doing what’s best for me.  We’ve been talking about free will for years, but whenever we’re together, you take mine away.  It wasn’t your call to make me think Amelia was in danger, it’s_ not _your call to make me choose between you and the life I want, and it’s sure as hell not your call to decide any of that for me!  I swear, every time you come back--_

-

Sam thumped his head against the steering wheel once, twice.  He should have stayed.  He should have said he was sorry by going to the refrigerator and bringing back two beers, should have sat down on the couch next to his brother and turned on a game and forgotten about this stupid, stupid idea.

He should not be sitting suspiciously in the parking lot of the motel where he’d helped the woman he probably-loved cheat on the husband she definitely-loved - her husband the _veteran_ , God, he was batting zero on the good-person front these days - while somewhere nearby a dog barked incessantly and some little old lady kept peering at him disapprovingly through the blinds of her motel room window.

Except, no.  He should be here.  Or he should...something.  Call, maybe.  Could have just called, said _Hey Amelia, this show-up-or-don’t thing was a horrible idea, let’s talk like grown-ups now_ , and then, you know.  Done that.

He sighed and sat up, rubbing the warm indent out of his forehead.  “Okay,” he muttered on a breath.  “Okay, okay.  Doing this.  Right.”

Except the clock said he still had two minutes before their rendezvous time, and Amelia was nowhere to be seen, and he should really wait until he was sure she was even coming before getting out of his stolen car.  Which he’d need to explain.  The Impala wasn’t a car you’d just _trade_.  Or, God forbid, crash.  He couldn’t even lie about that without feeling blasphemous.

Blasphemous to Dean.  His brother and savior, father and mother, role model and bad influence, trainer and jailer and protector.  Who he’d just hurt more than he ever meant to.

-

_What?_

_Forget it.  I didn’t--_

_Every time I come back, what?_

_Dean._

_Finish the fucking sentence, Sam._

_No._

_No?_

_No.  I’m sorry.  I--_

_You get the life you want.  Until I claw my way out of the ground again and drag you back down in the mud, right?_

_Dean, don’t--_

_Get out, Sam.  ‘Cause I sure as hell wouldn’t want to make you choose between me and ‘the life you want.’  I ain’t cruel.  Save the world and get the girl.  Hell if you haven’t earned it, what with the real rough year_ you've _been having._

_Will you just stop for a second and listen--where are you going?_

_Fuck off._

-

Sam’s phone rang, and he only glanced at it before shooting it to his ear.  “Dean?”

A pause, and then a voice that was not Dean.  “Sam?”

Sam blinked and sat up straighter.  “Amelia.”

Because Dean had changed the names in his contacts.  Of course he’d been thorough.  Of course he’d switched Amelia’s name to his own main cell number for his lie - that much Sam had already known, and fixed - but of course he’d put his own name on Amelia’s phone number in turn.  That made the anger flare all over again, and screw Dean anyway.

He cleared his throat, got his head together, and repeated, “Amelia.  Hey.”

“Hey.  Are you okay?”

“What?  Yeah.  Yeah, I’m fine.  Why?”

He made a face at himself, wondering how he was still such a bumbling sixteen-year-old around her after this much time.

“Well, because you just answered the phone like you were expecting your missing brother, and because you’ve been being creepy in the parking lot for the last twenty minutes.”

“How do you know--”

“Because I’ve been being creepy on the other end of the parking lot for the last twenty minutes.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“...Yeah.”

There was a little rush of air over the receiver, that little sigh she’d give whenever she was deciding to be brave.  “So.  We’re both here.  But you haven’t gotten out of that car.”

“Yeah,” Sam said again, shifting in his seat.  “About that.”

-

_“This is Dean’s other, other cell.  You know what to do.”_

_Dean.  Yeah, I went straight to the other-other cell, because I thought maybe there was a chance you’d actually pick up.  Look, I’m sorry, okay?  What I said was stupid, and you didn’t let me explain, just...I know you’re pissed, but just let me know you’re not doing anything dumb, okay?  I don’t even care if you’re with Benny.  Just tell me you’re okay.  I’m...I’m on the way to meet Amelia.  For the record, I’m not sure what I’m going to tell her yet.  I’m not sure if it’s going to be yes.  I don’t know.  Just call me._

-

“About that?” Amelia echoed him softly, and he squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing at his forehead.  He realized, with a mildly inappropriate laugh, that he’d never had to do this part before; no one had ever lived long enough.  Go progress.

He realized just after that, the grim smile fading, that he had already made his decision.

“Amelia,” he began after a deep breath, “look--”

“Sam?” she interrupted all in a rush.  “I think--I think I know what you’re going to say, and if it’s what I think it is, I really don’t want to hear it over the phone.”

Sam bit back the argument that, no, over-the-phone with no eye contact and the ability to drive away at any time was actually the very best way to have an awkward conversation, and dug his fingers through his hair.  “Uh, yeah.  Yeah, I can…”

“I’m down at the end.  Here.”  Out the window, a car flashed its headlights.  “Will you come?”

Sam dropped his hand, took a breath, and opened the door.  “Yeah.  I’m coming.”

An entire road trip of planning out exactly what he was going to say to Amelia, and here he was sitting down in the passenger seat of her car with no idea what to say.  He was mostly too aware of his knees bunched up in the small space, because it would be weird to adjust the seat now, and then later either be the jerk who left her seat out of place after breaking up with her or the jerk who took thirty seconds figuring out how to readjust the seat and then fell out of her car after breaking up with her, and Sam was thinking way, way too hard right now.

God, she was beautiful.

Amelia watched him as he adjusted his limbs, and she gave him a fragile sort of smile.  “Hey.”

He smiled back, not so fragile, and not so much of a smile, really.  “Hey.”

She tilted her head toward where the parking lot opened up into the street.  “Take a drive with me?”

Sam blinked a couple of times, caught between frowning and smiling a little, because that was a weird thing for her to ask.  “What do you mean?”

“Is that weird?” Amelia laughed, tugging self-consciously on the ends of her hair.  “It wouldn’t be long, just…”

Sighing, Sam reached for her hand and pulled it gently away from her hair, squeezing a little.  “Amelia.  I don’t think we should draw this out.  You have a life to get back to.  A good one.  And I have…”

She waited, then quietly asked, “What do you have, Sam?”

His answer was, _I have no idea._

His answer out loud was, “I have work to do.”

“So I can’t convince you, huh?”

_Yes, probably.  Easily.  Disastrously.  Ask one more time and I’ll say yes._

“No.”

Her hand tightened on his, too tight, and the locks on the doors all snapped down, and her eyes flashed to black.

“Then I guess I’ll have to get creative.”

-

_Do you think I’m cursed?_

_Sammy, come on._

_I mean it.  We’ve dealt with so many cursed objects, Dean.  Or...I don’t know, but every time I--Jess, and Maddison, and now Ruby, I--_

_You’re not cursed, Sam.  You just…_

_Don’t finish that sentence._

_Look, it’s just the life, man.  You lost someone innocent.  You made a call when it stopped being black-and-white.  You got played by a demon.  Happens to the best of us, all of it.  But now we’ve got Lucifer on your ass and an apocalypse to stop, so maybe think priorities._

_The future is a priority, Dean.  Our future.  After all this.  After everything we’ve done, everything we’re doing, we deserve--_

_What?  Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness?  That’s what our lives are about protecting, man--_

_\--better.  We deserve better.  I...I deserve better.  And so do you._

_Yeah, well.  Better’s coming for you, Sammy-boy.  But not before we clear the way._

-

Sam had nightmares about this, sometimes even while he was asleep, and the sight of it right there in front of him, _Amelia danger nothuman notsafe notreal ruined Amelia **demon** blackeyes lost everytime everysingletime yourfault yourfault **yourfault**_ , swept cold down every inch of his skin.  His chest hurt.  Everything hurt.

“Aw, don’t cry, Romeo,” the demon cooed.  “The boss just wants a word, is all.”

Boss. Crowley.  Lost Kevin, lost Samandriel, now going after Sam, why--

The air shifted, warming and thickening, and the hairs on his arms stood up, and Sam wrenched his hand away with a shout of effort just as the world vanished around them.

-

_Quiz-time, Sammy._

_Dean, I have homework._

_Who does homework?  C’mon.  If you don’t know this stuff by the time Dad gets back, he’ll kick my ass._

_Fine.  But short, okay?_

_You’ll never know what hit you.  How do you know someone’s a demon?_

_Black eyes, sulfur smell, they don’t like salt or holy water, and they flinch if you say, “Christo.”_

_How do you know if a demon’s gonna try and zap you someplace?_

_The air gets thick, the sulfur smell gets worse, and your hair stands up._

_How long have you got to do something about it?_

_Less than a second._

_What can you do about it?_

_Fight like hell._

-

The ground slammed into Sam’s back as the world sprang back into existence, and the moment he got a breath in, he was chanting.  “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus--”

A foot rammed into his stomach, cutting him off.  “Shhh.  None of that, now.”

“--o-omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio--”  It dissolved into a grunt when something invisible pushed him off the ground and threw him backward, his back and his head cracking into what felt like a tree trunk at almost the same time.  Trees.  What trees?  How far had they traveled?

“Rude.”  She strolled to a stop in front of him while he gritted his teeth and fought the pressure holding him there, not that it ever did any good.  “I’m being nice, here.  Even picked out a meatsuit I knew you’d like.”

She fluttered the hem of Amelia’s shirt at him, and Sam lunged at her so hard that her magic wavered, his shoulders pulling away from the trunk and his hand scrabbling at his jacket pocket before she forced him back.  “Easy there, chuckles.”

“How long?” Sam spat, his voice half-there from the pressure on his chest.  She tilted her head questioningly, just like Amelia, and he made extra effort to breathe.  “How long has this been you?”

“Oh, sweetie.”  She was inches away, all of a sudden, tracing his jaw with a smile that didn’t belong on Amelia’s face.  “How long do you think?”

“No,” he choked.   _Not again not again not again please--_

“Oh, relax, big guy,” she said, patting his cheek while he strained to pull away.  “You had our girl here all to yourself up until she decided to get a little hunter on the side.”  She wiggled her eyebrows, lifting her other hand to undo Amelia’s scarf.  “Just hopped a ride after you had your heartfelt crazy monkey sex the other day.”

The other day.  Not forever.  The other day, when she wouldn’t have been there if Sam hadn’t--and he wouldn’t have, if Dean hadn’t--

“Feel better?” she asked, sliding the scarf slowly off her shoulders.

Sam took a centering breath, in and out.  “Infernalis adversarii, omnis legio--mmph--”  He cut off with a muffled choke when she rolled her eyes and shoved the scarf into his mouth.

“Seriously, shut up,” she huffed, stepping back and crossing her arms.  “Here’s the deal, buddy.  Really not looking for a fight here.  I’m just a delivery girl.  The boss wants to chat with a Winchester, so my job is to bring him a Winchester.  In one piece, or two, or five, as long as you can talk back.  Frankly, I don’t want to deal with you longer than I have to.  So I’m offering to take you in one piece.  I’ll even let Scarlet Letter here go free, safe and sound.”

Options.  Options, he needed options.  Go with her - probably a trap.  Crowley’s turf.  Probably wanted to know about Kevin; Sam had no idea where Kevin was.  Even if he didn’t know, Crowley wouldn’t waste him.  He’d use him.  Bait, probably.  Bait for Dean, and it would work.  Even though Dean was mad at him, even though Sam had hurt him, it would work.

But Amelia would be safe.

But demons lie.

Or, fight back.  Weapons: phone in one pocket, blades up sleeve and in boot, holy water hidden in hand after he grabbed it a minute ago when he’d been almost free.  Exorcism recorded on phone.  Holy water vial full.  Needed to move arms to use any of them.  Needed to bargain to move arms.  Needed to talk to bargain.

“But,” she said, leaning in close and patting him down until she found the blade up his sleeve, “if you’re not in a cooperating kind of mood,” she pulled it out and traced the tip down his cheek while he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling queasy, “I can think of a few extremities that aren’t all that vital.  Yours, or hers.  I’m not picky.  So--”

“Amelia?”

New voice, distraction, and a tiny waver, _yes_.  Sam wrenched the cap off the holy water and threw it in the demon’s face, and she snarled and staggered, steam hissing off her skin. The rest of the pressure vanished.  Sam dropped and sprinted, tearing the scarf out of his mouth and bending low to tackle her at the waist, sending the knife flying before twisting her arm behind her back.  “Go!” he shouted to the bystander who’d interrupted, whoever they were.  “Go, get out of here!”

What he didn’t expect was the quiet click of the safety on a gun.

“Get away from my wife.”

-

_Dean, seriously, I have thirty pages to read by second period tomorrow._

_Quit bitching, we’re almost done.  When a demon possesses somebody, what’s the most important thing they get out of it?_

_A hostage._

_Right.  What’s the first priority when you’re dealing with that?_

_Save the victim._

_Yeah.  I mean, no.  No.  That’s wrong.  That’s number two.  First priority is--_

_Get rid of the demon?  That’s what Dad says.  It doesn’t mean he’s right._

_Listening to Dad is the reason we’re not dead._

_I listen.  It doesn’t mean I agree with him.  And I don’t think you do, either._

_Not now, Sam._

_Why are you trying to do what he wants when he’s not even here?  He’s never here.  He’s never going to_ be _here!  Why do you keep_ trying _so hard--_

_Last question._

_Dean!_

_Sam.  Last question, then we’re done.  What’s the only thing worse than humans possessed by demons?_

_The civilians who love them._

-

He didn’t have to look, and there wasn’t time.  “She’s not your wife!” was all he managed before he was flying through the air, ricocheting off of something that wasn’t a tree and hitting the ground hard.  Pavement here, not grass.  For the first time, Sam took a good look at their surroundings, and he found that what he’d bounced off of was the back wall of the motel, right by where it opened up into a woody stretch.  They hadn’t traveled far, after all.  No wonder they weren’t alone.

The demon was getting to her feet when he shook off the impact, and her smile was genuinely tickled.  She flashed black eyes at the stricken-faced husband - Don, that was his name, he thought - and laughed, “Thanks, honey.”

Sam winced when Don hit the wall nearby, but a distraction was a distraction.  He pulled out his phone and started the exorcism recording with one hand, fishing out an anti-possession charm from his pocket with the other.  He didn’t wait for Don to get his bearings before pressing the charm into his hand.  “Hold on to that, no matter what,” he instructed quickly.  “Don’t let her hurt herself.  Amelia’s still in there.”  Then he pushed off the ground and began to chant with the recording as he ran for his knife.

Just as he reached for it, the same pressure that had held him to the tree slammed down on him full-force, knocking him flat on his back.  Another breath, and a boot was pressing unforgivingly on his throat, cutting the chant off completely.  At the last second, he blindly threw the phone as hard as he could, praying that the leaves and the dark would be enough to hide it.

“Sam,” she said through gritted teeth, her amusement gone, “we talked about...this…”  A moment of confusion, and she seemed to realize that though his voice had stopped, the exorcism hadn’t.

Shock crossed her face, and she staggered backward, the pressure wavering and snapping into nothing.  Sam added his voice to the exorcism as soon as he could breathe, and she strained through her teeth and brought her hands to her head.  “So you want me to snap her neck, huh?” she spat, breathless and wild-eyed as she fought the exorcism.  “Fine by me--”

She gasped when Don slammed into her from behind, hitting the ground with her and pinning her arms to her sides.  “I don’t think so.”

“Contremisce et effuge,” Sam continued as he stood, while she thrashed against Don’s hold, weakened.  “Invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt--”

Opening Amelia’s mouth into a scream, the demon fled.  Black poured out of her, hasty and all at once, surging toward Don for a moment before recoiling, then vanishing howling into the night.

Amelia slumped gasping in Don’s arms, her face pale in the weak light.  Sam knelt by the two of them, thrumming with adrenaline as he quickly checked her over for injuries the demon might have left behind.  “Are you okay?  Amelia?”  He carefully turned her chin toward him, checking for concussion, for dehydration, for eye contact.  “Did it hurt you?”

The whites of her eyes shone in the dark, but they were otherwise alert and clear, if exhausted.  Hoarsely, she answered, “Sam?  I...I don’t…”

“What the hell just happened?” Don asked, not as shakily as Sam would have expected, his eyes wide but his hands steady as he sat up and pulled Amelia to him.  “Did you just--was that an exorcism that you just--”

“Listen,” Sam interrupted, the adrenaline comedown sending a tremor through his limbs and making nausea crawl faintly in his stomach.  He ignored it.  “We shouldn’t talk here.  Don, you still have that charm?”

Don opened the hand that wasn’t circling between Amelia’s shoulderblades and revealed the charm.  Sam nodded.  “Good.  Give it to her, for now.  She’ll need to get hydrated and something to eat.  Demons usually either forget that part or don’t care.”

Don stared at him.  “Demons.”

“Yeah,” Amelia crackled before Sam could open his mouth.  Her eyes hadn’t left him.  “Demons.”

-

_When’s the last time we exorcised a demon?_

_The hell kind of question is that?  We ganked like ten of ‘em last week._

_Yeah, ganked.  As in killed.  We’ve been killing demons for a long time now.  When’s the last time we saved someone?_

_Sam.  I know, okay?  Just, you get down to life or death, in the moment, you get done what needs to get done._

_Yeah.  I know, I’ve been making the call, too.  I guess that thing with Kevin’s mom and Crowley reminded me of when it was all about saving them, getting them back to their families, to their lives.  Save people first, kill demons second.  When did we lose that?_

_We’ve lost a lot of things, Sammy._

-

At Don’s insistence, Sam followed them home, got nearly tackled by an ecstatic Riot at the door, spent a moment kneeling down with his face in her fur until he was okay again, and then sat down awkwardly in an armchair with Riot leaning on his leg while Don bundled Amelia in blankets on the couch and got her started on a glass of orange juice and some crackers.  A minute later, a mug of something hot appeared in Sam’s hand, and Don sat down by Amelia and pulled her into his side, and it was time to explain.

They took it better than most, Amelia nodding agreement to his descriptions of possession, then abruptly collapsing into a weak laughing fit when he explained about himself, because apparently being a monster hunter made him less strange than he was when he pretended to be normal.  Don listened attentively, firing questions about everything from signs of possession to whether gremlins were real (to which Amelia rolled her eyes like they’d had this discussion before), all with a direct, strategic approach that reminded Sam he’d been a soldier.

By some miracle, they managed to get through most of the conversation without anything getting too painfully awkward - though there was the moment when Sam explained about his anti-possession tattoo and Amelia let out an abruptly understanding, “Oh!” before seeming to remember her husband was sitting next to her, then pressing her lips together and refraining from saying anything for a little while - and by the time Sam had covered as much as he could cover, talking through some anti-demon tricks and blessing a cup of water to show how it was done, their mugs were drained, Don had sneezed about twelve times, and the color was back in Amelia’s face.

Riot stayed next to Sam from beginning to end, seeming content to rest her chin on Sam’s leg while he kept himself awake and sane by scruffing through her fur.  Amelia and Don seemed to find it mildly fascinating in turns, occasionally looking at Riot and then catching the other’s eye, having a conversation he couldn’t read.  He tried not to let that hurt.

They belonged here, together.  And they’d both been put in danger, just because they knew him.  The same way it happened every time.

“I’m sorry,” he finished, feeling more like an intruder with every passing second and feeling a pressing need to get out.  "None of this would have happened to you if I’d stayed away.  Everything I know is all yours, so you can keep safe.  But I’m sorry.  I’m sorry you got dragged into all this because of me.”

“Hey,” Amelia soothed, sitting up straighter.  “It’s not your fault some demon is trying to kidnap you.”  She paused, briefly glazing over while, he assumed, she repeated that sentence in her head and took a moment to review her life choices up to this point.  She shook her head.  “Yeah, I’m probably not going to be sleeping too well for a while, but I can’t blame you for that.”  She caught his eye and held it, looking pained like she wanted to be giving him more than eye contact.  “It’s _not your fault._  It wouldn’t have even seen us at the motel if I hadn’t--”

Sam was grimacing before she managed to cut herself off, paling, and look around at everything not-Don, or maybe for a sock to stuff in her mouth.  

A beat, and a fortifying scratch behind Riot’s ears, and Sam dared a glance in Don’s direction, mentally prepared for whatever was coming.  Except for what he actually got.  He was not prepared for Don to stare at Amelia, and then at him, and then burst out laughing so suddenly that Riot (but definitely not Sam) startled almost completely off the floor.

Sam and Amelia exchanged wary, mildly alarmed glances while Don leaned down on his elbows and laughed, and laughed, and then Amelia snatched up Sam’s cup of holy water and threw it in Don’s face.

Don dripped, and stared, and then dropped his face into his hand and laughed harder, and Riot leapt to her feet and started barking helpfully along with him, and Sam looked awkwardly around the room for a clue how to respond.

“You,” Don managed between gasps, “your faces, _Jesus_.”  He let out another staggered breath, wiping at his eyes.  “He’s--he’s a monster hunter, slash mechanic, slash, what are you, an underwear model?  Seriously.”  He flopped back on the couch and chuckled while Sam worked on closing his mouth.  “And you were a demon.  A fucking demon.  You flung me into a fucking _wall_ , babe.  And it’s all because you two--”

He broke again, pressing his palms to his eyes and pulling in air.  Dropping them, he sighed through a grin and grabbed one of the blankets to dry off.  “I followed you to that motel, came over and you had him trussed up to that tree with your scarf in his _mouth_ , you have any idea what I _thought_ I was walking in on?  Oh, never mind, just an _evil demon from Hell_.  Christ.”

Amelia’s mouth, which had been twitching more the longer Don laughed, dropped open.  “Oh _God_ , you thought I was doing _what?_ ” she asked, letting out a disbelieving laugh.  “No!”

Subtly, Sam pinched himself.  It hurt.  Not dreaming.

Amelia buried her face in her hands, snorting a little, and a smile fought its way onto Sam’s face in spite of everything.  Riot thumped her tail against the floor, panting up at him, and he exhaled a short laugh himself, settling back in the chair.  What a strange day.

A bad day, in a lot of ways.  But not the worst.  Definitely not the worst.  He wasn’t safe, but Amelia and Don were, as much as they could be.  They were shaken and exhausted, but laughing.  She was helping him dry off and calling him a pervert, and he was reminding her of that time she threw _holy water_ at him five minutes ago and laughing himself into another sneezing fit, and they were happy.

They would be okay.  If he left their lives right now, they would be okay.

He waited until the moment of minor hysteria seemed to be passing, then cleared his throat, patting Riot on the head.  “I, uh.  I should probably get going.”

They looked at him as one, slowly sobering, and he rubbed behind Riot’s ears and stood.  “That was the original plan.  In coming to the motel, I mean.  I don’t want to--”

“I know,” Amelia said, standing with him, Don following suit.  “I was there.”

Yes, she was.  Of course she was.  “Right.”

Amelia exchanged another brief look with Don, then stepped forward.  “I’ll walk you out.”

Sam tried a smile for her and wasn’t sure how successful it was.  He lifted his gaze back to Don, who came forward and extended a hand.  His grip was firm and genuine.  “You saved us both tonight.  That’s all I need to know,” he said.  “Thank you.”

Sam nodded back.  “Stay safe.”

He went to the entryway to pull on his boots, feeling like some strange pied piper with Amelia and Riot following close behind.  He took his time, letting Riot slow him down by nosing at his hands and licking his chin between anxious whimpers.  He patted at her head and back, his chest feeling heavier about leaving her all over again than he’d thought it would.

“So,” Amelia said, studying him as he stood.  “This is you.”

“Yeah,” he said.  “Surprise.  I guess.”

She smiled a little.  “There are worse surprises.”

“Not everyone would agree with you,” Sam said, huffing a laugh.  “You sure you’re okay?”

She didn’t answer right away, swallowing visibly.  “You said that’s happened to you before?  Getting possessed?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you know how okay I am,” she said softly.  She took a deep breath in and out, and he caught just a glimpse of the haunted glimmer in her eyes before she blinked it away.  “But I’m not alone.  I mean.  We’ll have to talk, Don and me.  When it’s not...today.  But I won’t be alone.”

“Good.  That’s good.”

“Will you be?” she asked, frowning.  “I didn’t get the whole conversation, because I was kind of screaming at a demon to get out of my head, but you said ‘Dean’ when you answered the phone.  Is he...back?  I won’t even ask about how that works, but I mean, is it you and him now?”

Oh, right.  That other problem.  “It’s complicated,” Sam said.  “Right now...I don’t know.  I think I might be on my own for a while.”

Amelia was quiet a moment, idly stroking Riot’s head and biting her lip.  Slowly, she asked, “Do you want to not be?”

Sam’s eyes snapped up.  “Amelia, you know we can’t--”

“No--not that,” she said quickly.  “Not me.  Her.”

Sam followed her gaze to Riot.  The dog’s tail started wagging just from the eye contact.  He looked up again, incredulous.  “Are you kidding?  I couldn’t just--”

“It’s not--Don and I were talking in the car,” Amelia explained.  “We’ve been talking for a few weeks, actually.  It’s mostly for Don.  The reason I didn’t have a dog before...you, is because Don’s pretty allergic.  You saw how he’s been sneezing off the hook since we got back.  That’s been pretty much all the time since he moved in.  I wouldn’t have married him if he didn’t like dogs, and we love her, but it isn’t working.  We weren’t sure what to do.  I was going to start asking around at the office, but now, here you are.”  Eyeing where Riot was leaning against Sam’s leg, she smiled.  “And we can all see she’s yours.  She was yours first.”

Sam opened his mouth, and nothing came out of it.  He looked back at Riot, who looked silently back.

“If it’s too fast, or if you’re not in a place right now that you can, I understand.  There are still people I can check with.  But if you want…”

She trailed off when he lifted his eyes back to hers, and he dimly noted that they were stinging, his throat going tight.

This was ending.  This was already gone.  But he didn’t have to be alone.

“Sam?”

He took a deep breath, swallowed.  “Yeah,” he said, and he mentally congratulated his voice for staying steady.  “Yeah, I...if you really can’t, I don’t want to _take_ her from you, but if you can’t.  Then, yeah.  Of course.”

Amelia touched his arm and went to get what he would need - half-full bag of dog food, basket of chew toys, the dog bed they had bought together the week before Don had come back to life - and Sam got his breath.  They took the supplies to the car, Riot following happily behind him and hopping into the passenger seat like it had always been her spot, and once they had closed the doors and she had petted and kissed a goodbye to the dog through the open window, Amelia stepped in close and he sank into her arms.

“Thank you,” he murmured into her hair.  “For everything.”

She held onto him like it hurt, until it hurt.  “Thank you for saving me.  Not just tonight.”

“Same.”

One more inhale, one more exhale, and Sam let go.  Amelia took longer, sliding a hand around the back of his head and pulling him down to press a kiss to his forehead.  “Not goodbye forever, okay?” she whispered.  “If you need anything, even just to talk at someone for a while, you have my number.”

Sam nodded.  “If you’re in trouble, or if there are any answers you need, you have mine.”

Amelia nodded, and they hovered in each other’s space for one more breath, and then she was stepping aside, and he was getting in the driver’s seat, buckling the belt, starting the engine, ruffling Riot’s fur.  Lifting a hand, watching her lift hers.  Saying goodbye.

Watching her vanish in the rear view mirror.

He drove long enough to get out of town, and out of the next, and then he pulled into an empty lot and parked, getting his bearings.  Stretched his fingers across his eyes for a few minutes.  He checked his phone: no missed calls, no texts.  He sent a text back anyway: _Had something stuck to my shoe, black eyes. Took care of it. Be careful.  Still sorry._  It only made things more surreal to think that he had left the message for Dean only four hours ago.

Silently, he corrected the names in his contact list.  Amelia was Amelia.  Dean was Dean.

He called neither.

He turned to his right, and Riot - _his dog_ , and that would take some getting used to - turned from her head-out-the-window adventure to look expectantly back at him.

“Yeah,” he said softly, in answer to something unsaid, or maybe something that part of him had been saying for a long time.

-

_What if Dad’s wrong, Dean?_

_Sam, damn it--_

_What if it’s not us-or-them all the time?  Normal or freak, human or monster?  Family or a normal life?  Why are those the only two choices?_

_Because sometimes two choices are all you get.  Now drop it, Sam._

_No.  I’m not going to drop it, because he’s wrong.  There are never just two choices.  Ever._

_Oh yeah, and what genius taught you that one?_

_You did._

-

Dean had chosen between the brother who’d hurt him and the vampire who hadn’t yet.  Amelia had chosen between a real life and a good dream.

Sam picked his destination, and then drove toward Option Number Three.

**Author's Note:**

> To kick off Post the Things 2015, so begins what I intend to become a series of stories along a shared Season 8 canon-divergent storyline. The whole thing is half planned and half flying by the seat of my pants, so we'll see where it goes.
> 
> Thanks to [thesquirrelofsquee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thesquirrelofsquee) and [ladyinabox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyinabox) for your help with getting this thing rolling!


End file.
